|not for all the hellfire in dresden.
||[Dec. 7th, 2004|09:45 am]
|||||the flesh of men is weak.||]|
|||||crown me king- a gruesome tea party||]|
lets makes today a game of chutes & ladders- after much struggle, gaining altitude but oh so easily sliding back to the base of the slope. the slope itself covered in barbed wire; the barbs themselves a tripwire for booby-traps. it isn't such a bad no-man's land, if you are a tank. man, ever see those old wwii movies of tank killers? talk about fucking crazy, running up to a tank & tossing a mine up top it. but you see, the kerubim are more dangerous than any tank, so me & my onus keep our eyes open for new & intresting tactics. but oh, i've wandered back into half-dreaming, & should emerge out from that copse for more purposeful & strident discussions. like: you know how those individuals with whom previously in your existance you were close to? & then time passed with only a smatterings of contact, until all of a sudden they were saying things you couldn't even imagine the old them saying? i always wonder what changed more, the situation, or them. i always wonder.